CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
All elves were as familiar with the symmetry of the
Fire Tree as with veins on the back of a hand. From birth to death, it was a
leading symbol of light and spiritual existence beyond any lifetimes Ri
intended for them. Excruciatingly
intense, therefore, had been the initial despair and confusion among elves when
the Fire Tree, along with all other vegetation, ceased to thrive as light
slowly faded and even what was seen as a Tree of Life that never shed it leaves
began to display signs of decay.
While it had to be
a sign of ill omen, such was the nature of elves that they tried to put its
implications aside and get on with their lives. Even so, it had cast a long
shadow for more lifetimes than some younger elves had ever known. Elven elders
struggled to reassure and invoke the virtues of resilience, stoicism, and a
positive take on all aspects of life, even in the face of such open
contradiction, but most had been well aware for the greater part of their own
lifetimes that they were probably fighting a losing battle.
Elves believed that when the sequence of lifetimes
granted them at Ri’s pleasure came to an end, their spirits would pass into the
Fire Tree and become as a leaf on the tree that never shed its leaves, free to
observe and participate if only passively in the lives of their kin; to see its
branches bare, hear no spirits talking among themselves or observe tree
creatures at play like children cut them to the quick.
Pers stood before the Fire Tree as he had done a thousand
times before and asked of Ri as he always had…Why? As always, there was no
answer, but as he gazed into a patch of coppery sky through a window of silent
branches, his heart missed a beat as he spotted something tiny and green. Can
it be a bud, a leaf? What is happening?
As he continued to observe, awe-struck, he experienced a growing affinity with
the tree to an extent he had never entered into before. Astor had been evasive
as to the nature of his, Pers’, task, except to suggest that the survival of all
Mamelon - and beyond - depended on his actions. But what must I do? Pers had
insisted several times, to which the druid would only shrug and say that was
between elf and tree. It made no sense. Well, it had made a sense of sorts, but
one which Pers’ conscious mind was unable to articulate. Offer yourself to the
tree, and be as one with it, Astor had said more than once, and you will find
what you will find, as will we all.
How does one offer oneself to a tree? Per had asked and
asked of himself yet again. All Astor would say, with as much obtuseness and
evasiveness as ever, was to get in touch with your instincts and follow them.
That was all very well, but…how, and follow them where?
Pers sighed. He had lost all track of time, but his
entire body felt as if it had endured more lifetimes than even the most
favoured of elves could hope for, and it’s not as if I have even been made to
feel favoured in any way, shape or form, the reverse in fact, he brooded with
uncharacteristic self-pity. This was a chance to prove himself, Astor had told
him, but…how? Without realizing it, he addressed the tree directly, and was
shocked to hear it reply. A tree cannot
speak…
Never underestimate a tree just as we trees never
underestimate elves, the voice in his head persisted with a firmness that
brooked no further interruption.
Pers was more than a little surprised to discover that he
was not in the least afraid, quite the opposite in fact as he sensed more, far
more than either familiarity or close affinity with the tree, but a kind of
flowering into something else altogether. Yes, flowering, that was the word he
wanted; it was as if he was not simply observing green shoots on the branches
but entering into their very spirit of celebration for a return after so long
an absence. No, not that even… He struggled to comprehend. It’s as if I AM that
spirit of celebration. But that is absurd. How could that be, unless… He
recalled Astor’s words about becoming one with the tree. Instinctively, he took
a few tentative steps towards it. The tree welcomed his approach and instilled
him not only with self-confidence but a sense of self-esteem the like he had
never known before. It had always been Irina that shone, while he was content
to live in the shadow of the sister he adored. It had cut him to the quick so
to feel estranged from her while under Arissa’s spell.
Pers quickened his step, anxious to embrace the tree as
he might an old friend. Yet, it was as if Arissa’s name, springing to mind as
it had out of a distant consciousness, created a barrier between the tree and
himself. While he yearned with increasing intensity to grasp the outstretched
branches, his feet refused to move.
Come, said the tree, be all you have ever wished to be
and more, much more, a legend among elves of whom all Mamelon will speak with
reverence and give thanks, too, for all time.
Pers willed himself to put one foot in front of the
other, but he could not. He sensed dark forces holding him back just as the
Spirit of the Fire Tree urged him forwards. What is happening? I can scarcely
draw breath. I feel as though I am caught in a tug of war…!
He began to feel faint while struggling to remain
conscious, suspecting for no reason other than a rapid heartbeat that seemed to
be beating out the same message over and over… Stay awake, elf, or all is lost.
Stay awake, elf, stay awake or…
Meanwhile, in Lunis, City of Moons, the Dark Mage,
Ragund, raged at being thwarted so, finally understanding that the red haired
Motherworld boy was but a distraction. No, more than that, a tool for enemy
forces with which the elf might yet prove his, Ragund’s nemesis. But I am
wasting time, and time is everything. He struggled to breathe as the elf,
continued to drag him to the brink of defeat.
“To the brink, it is then?” he yelled in the manner of a war cry, “ So
be it, but no further. You will obey me, elf. Obey, ME, no one else! Damn the
One to eternal fire who seeks to interfere and prevent the greatest victory
dark magic has ever known. Oh, help me, great Xu, and succeed here where you
failed before. Send the servant of Ri who has set himself against us scurrying
back to the Black Hole from whence, uninvited, he has ventured forth. Back, back, I say, where scum such as he
belongs!”
“Your humble vessel, Ragund, calls upon you on his knees,
great Xu, to fill me with your spirit so together we may overcome that devil,
Ri, who dares present himself as a god over you and all the worlds in the
galaxy that are rightfully yours. Redeem yourself, great Xu, and bring all the
force of the Xaruki into play on my behalf, the better so to serve you, for to
serve you, great Xu, is all I ask…”
Meanwhile, in Nul-y-Gray, Isle of the Dead, Gabriel drove
himself to the limits of his skills in magic and manipulation of sheer
willpower, calling upon Ri even as he heard Ragund calling passionately upon Xu
in the swirling mist where his subconscious seemed to be spinning like a
humming top, frantically, a separate entity entirely from that with which mind,
body and spirit could expect to be reconciled. Suddenly, he felt it, a mere
stirring at first, and then slowly but surely gathering momentum until like a
massive tidal surge, it swamped everything in its path, drowning out all sense
of Other presence. The top ceased to
hum, ceased even to turn, letting rip with a single, piercing shriek before
being sucked into some inarticulate vortex.
Gabriel fell, exhausted, to the ground.
“You have done well, mage,” murmured Etta and Galia
simultaneously although it was Nadya who knelt beside the inert form and felt
for a heartbeat while the others entertained thoughts of their own. Nadya
looked up and said quietly, “And so have you all done well. Know that I sensed
your coming to his aid and would have done myself had I been even half as well
versed in what was required as the two of you. I do not understand what has
happened, but I sense it is a force for good and all Mamelon will commemorate
this moment for lifetimes to come.”
“Your senses serve you well,” responded Etta with a wry
smile.
“Will he live?” Galia asked anxiously, feeling guilty
that her main concern should be returning to the Motherworld with her children,
and for that, she knew full well, she needed Gabriel alive. Neither her own
powers nor those of elves, druids or an erstwhile Holy Seer would be enough,
just as they, alone, had never been enough to transport them to Mamelon in the
first place. Fool, Galia, that you let emotions cloud your vision.
“He lives,” said Nadya looking down again just when, as
if on cue, Gabriel opened his eyes. “So too, I suspect, does Mamelon.” She
glanced from Etta to Galia and felt reassured by a perceptible glow of triumph
in their faces. “How do you f…” She turned back to Gabriel, at the same time
bracing herself for hazarding at least an educated guess at interpreting the
grizzled features, but she got to further.
Of Gabriel there was no sign.
……………………......
Mind, body and spirit pulled first this way and then the
other, Pers soon became convinced he was literally about to collapse in
pieces…If I do not burst first for I cannot
breathe. The air will neither enter nor leave my body. Mind and spirit
are ready to fly away into some poetic horizon although… he felt compelled to
retract… there can be no poetry in annihilation, surely? So what gibberish am I
thinking…?
Come, urged the tree with increasing passion if a shade
less compassionate and a note of sternness creeping into the lilting voice. I
sense desperation, but desperation for mine or its own survival? The elf found
himself entertaining the strangest thoughts if more astutely than he realized.
Snap!
Suddenly, it was as if a cloud of spores burst free from
its source and proceeded to drift with speed, not into some bleak space,
heading nowhere, but directly towards the Fire Tree; its branches spread
infinitely wider to receive it, folding inwards again the instant it had taken
to its heart the reconciled mind, body, and spirit that had once been Pers,
only son of La-Ri and Ka-Ri, true child of Gar, of as pure eleven stock as any,
destined for greater things even than the poetry of imagination.
……………………………..
For some time after the glucks and their riders had faded
from view, Bethan and Fred kept a companionable quiet on the bleak purple
mountaintop. Bethan shivered for the increasing cold, but did not complain
although envying the Foss his furry coat.
It was Fred who broke the silence. “We should leave, I
think,” he ventured, hating to see his companion’s sense of loss and
abandonment even though it had been her choice to remain.
“I had no choice,” she told him as if reading the little
fellow’s thoughts, “I am a Keeper, my place is here as it has always been.”
“Not for a long time,” he reminded her gently.
Bethan shrugged. “I know my duty,” she insisted.
“Duty, huh…!” Fred retorted, “Duty is much overrated if
you ask me.”
“It is a privilege,” she responded instantly, “A
privilege…, she repeated.
It struck her companion that this Bethan, Keeper did not
so much mean what she said as was saying it to convince herself rather than…
What is it, he wondered, that she cannot or will not accept? What is she so
afraid of…herself perhaps? “We must go,” it was his turn to insist, “…before
you freeze to death. Come…” he took her hand in his, paw “I will take you to
where you will be safe, warm, and comfortable. No one knows the mountains like
Foss,” he added reassuringly.
“I must guard the tomb,” she murmured, more to herself
than to the little Foss.
“That is just a manner of speaking,” Fred told her, “No
one expects you to literally guard the tomb. A Keeper’s presence on the
mountain has always been enough.”
“Enough for what, fo whom?” she asked, genuinely
intrigued, “Look what happened when there was no Keeper. Now Mamelon has hope.
Would you have me throw that away by following my heart instead of my head?”
“Ah!” exclaimed the Foss, “So your heart, at least,
entertains more than duty.” It was not a question.
Bethan made no reply but turned to face the way they had
come, “I am ready. Let’s go. I am very grateful for as well as glad of your
company, Fred,” she added with a smile so sad that it only served to convey her
misery. “I will miss you,”
“I am going somewhere?”
“Your home, your people, you must be longing to return to
them?”
Fred shrugged, “I am in no rush, and will not
leave you until or unless it becomes necessary for whatever reason.”
“You have no duty to me, Fred. I appreciate your concern,
but…”
“Duty has nothing to do with it. I want to stay with you.
You need someone. It is not in your nature to be alone. We Foss, we may seek
and enjoy companionship or we may prefer our own company. Now, that is choice…”
“Well spoken, Foss,” said a voice behind them that all
but startled them out of their skins. Both turned uneasily.
“Daddy…! Is it really you?” Bethan gasped. So great was
her incredulity that she did not even wonder why Fred barely reacted.
Father and daughter embraced. For the first time in ages Bethan, Keeper
resumed the persona of Bethany Martin from leafy Tonbridge Wells.
“But, Dad, how, why…? What on earth are you doing here? How
did you know where to find me? How did you get here? I don’t understand…”
“Never mind me, child, what about you? What are you doing
here when we both know, as our Foss friend here also knows, that you long to be
elsewhere?”
“I am a Keeper. I belong here. It is duty that brought me
here and duty that would have me stay.”
“And how do you feel about that? Do you want to stay on
some cold, inhospitable mountain for the rest of whatever lifetimes may be left
to you? The truth now, child, for nothing less will do. If this notion of duty,
laudable as it is, did not compel you to stay, would you not rather be
somewhere else even with someone else,” he added with a wicked twinkle in the
searching gaze. He glanced conspiratorially
at Fred. “No offence, Foss, we owe you much, my daughter and I, and we are
grateful, but I suspect we all know where her heart lies.”
Fred nodded, too awe-struck to say a word.
For her own part, Beth was content to snuggle against her
father’s chest, relieved to relinquish a tenuous hold on past, present and
future. Daddy, please help me, her inner self cried. Even as it did so, she
wondered why it was not begging to go home. And where is home? Oh, but I am so, so tired. For now, she would
block everything else out and savour the moment by remaining exactly where and
as she was without, just for once, having to keep battling self-doubt and
feeling increasingly guilty for a growing sense of losing a war.
Gabriel gently pushed her away and looked her in the eye.
“You must choose, daughter, and choose now, “Forget all you have been told
about duty. Sometimes we need to put ourselves first. True, many would dispute
that of lovers, but lovers also have the right to make choices. So…choose.
“You know…?”
“About a certain Nu-gen that once was and who now fears
confronting his destiny without the love of his life at his side? Oh, yes, I
know. I know also about love for I loved your mother dearly.”
“I cannot choose. I have no right…” She turned
appealingly to Fred, “Tell him Fred, tell him I do not have a choice, that this
is Mamelon and I am a Keeper and cannot, must not, will not put my duty before
anything or anyone else. “Tell him…” she wept.
“Tell him what? All that he knows already? I think not.
As for choices, how many times must I repeat myself? We all have them, you as much if not perhaps
more than anyone.”
“Why, because I am a Motherworlder?” she retorted through
tears, “I thought you knew me better than that.”
“A Motherworlder, yes, but you must know that it is not
to a Motherworlder I speak now but to Merlin’s daughter.”
“Merlin…?” she gasped, met the full-on twinkle in her
father’s eyes and instinctively knew that it was true.
The mage inclined his head, “It is one among many names I
have been called in as many lifetimes,” he agreed.
“And my mother…?
“Ah, Freya, light of my life, heart of my darkness. I
loved her well, your mother, and love her still. It is from her I would guess
the druid in you would have you mistake duty for a ball and chain. Mamelon has
no need of a Keeper now. Ri has once again triumphed over Xu. Ragund and his consort are less than the dust beneath our feet, trodden into the ground
by their own dark ambitions. As for you, daughter, you are as free to choose as
anyone what course you will follow.
‘Gluck, Gluck…!’ All three looked up as Iggy emerged from
murk and mist to make a perfect landing.
Bethan made her choice.
.
